


Prodigy

by TourmalineQueen



Series: Rozenn the Breton [26]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn's A+ parenting, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Ulfric's adventures in babysitting, Unfinished, longer fic, overpowered toddler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 05:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20651645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Galmar and Rozenn need a babysitter for three-and-a-half-year-old Barengar because Rozenn is feeling poorly. Ulfric Stormcloak, High King of Skyrim, steps up.





	1. Chapter 1

Hjerim was in chaos, when Ulfric walked in. The door had been left ajar, and nobody had responded to his knocking, and so he stepped inside, and watched two Housecarls run around the house at top speed, packing bags and yelling at each other in high voice.

"Hi, Nunca Ulfric - I mean, Your Highness," said a soft girl's voice from the shadowy corner to Ulfric's left.

"Hello, Sofie. You know you may call me Uncle, if you wish. In this house I always manage to forget that I am High King," Ulfric replied with a smile.

The girl uncurled from her hiding place in the corner and took Ulfric's hand. "Mama doesn't feel well, so Daddy is taking her to Whiterun to see Danica. Mama wants to go to Winterhold, but Daddy says it's too cold for her this time of year. She's not arguing with him, which I think means he's right."

"Are you going with them or will you be staying here with Barengar and myself?" Ulfric asked.

Sofie shrugged. "I don't know. I like Whiterun. It's warmer there, and I get to play with Nelkir, Lars and Lucia. But not Dagny, Frothar or Braith. They're mean. I like Nelkir. Don't tell Daddy or he'll take out his big axe."

"Your secret is safe with me," Ulfric replied solemnly. He was getting used to speaking with children, thanks to Rozenn and Galmar. He supposed it was true, they were just like any ordinary people of his acquaintance, although more prone to giggling or blurting out secrets. He hoped he would soon be setting up his own nursery.

"Calder! CALDER! Did you send word to the Palace yet?" Galmar was bellowing from the top of the stairs.

"I sent word this MORNING! When you TOLD ME TO!" Calder yelled back from inside the alchemy laboratory.

"Then WHERE IN TALOS' HOLY NAME IS ULFRIC?"

"Here, Galmar, standing in the doorway, where I have been for the last five minutes or so, talking with Sofie," Ulfric spoke for himself.

"Ulfric! Thank the gods. What took you so long?" Galmar called, running down the stairs. He reached out and gripped Ulfric's arm and drew him into the interior of the house.

"I think you think the job of High King is an idle one, like a Count or an Emperor," Ulfric said with a wry smile.

"Isn't it? Now look, Rozenn never wants to see a healer, so this is serious. I need to get to Whiterun quickly. Sofie will travel with us, Lydia enjoys looking after her, and she has friends to play with. But Barengar... He's too young, and has too quick a temper for a carriage journey, and no horse will bear him but Shadowmere, and I don't like that unnatural beast near my boy," Galmar rattled off quickly. The speech sounded rehearsed. "Will you take him? You know he loves his Nunca- er, Uncle, and won't burn the Palace to the ground."

"He won't burn it to the ground?" Ulfric repeated.

"Well, if Wuunferth hasn't burned it down yet, I doubt Barengar will manage it in the few days we'll be gone," Galmar waved off Ulfric's comment impatiently. "Will you?"

"Of course I will. It will be good to have a child in the Palace again, for a time, at least," Ulfric said with a quick smile.

"Thank you, my friend," Galmar murmured in relief. His smile took a decade off his face; Ulfric hadn't realised how tense and worried his friend was about the situation.

Ulfric clasped Galmar's shoulder. "Not to worry, my friend. Your wife needs to be looked after. Barengar and I will do well together."

"Famous last words," Calder muttered as he hurried by them.  
"Barengar," Galmar called out. "Barengar, come see who came to visit!"

Ulfric heard the pattering of small feet somewhere in front of him, but he saw nothing until a small boy appeared in a flash of blue-and-red magic and jumped up into his arms. "Nunca Uffick!"

"Ooof! You're getting so big, Barengar, you'll soon be a man," Ulfric said, trying to hide the fact that he was winded.

"Now, Barengar," Galmar said sternly. "We talked about this. You're going to stay with Nun- Uncle Ulfric in the Palace of Kings for a few days while Sofie, Mama and I go to boring old Whiterun. You'll have an adventure with your Uncle, won't you? And you'll be good for your Uncle, won't you?"

Galmar's emphases were not lost on Ulfric. Apparently in the time he had spent in Solitude, Barengar had become a bit mischievous, if not headstrong. With parents like Rozenn and Galmar, Ulfric found it hard to be surprised. At least he had experience managing Galmar.

They gathered the items Barengar would need: spare clothes, teething aids, a few napkins in case of accidents, and Viing, a tattered piece of red, straw-filled cloth that bore a vague resemblance to a dragon, which Barengar gripped and pressed against his face while saying goodbye to his parents. Rozenn was pale, sweaty and tense, although Ulfric wondered whether the tension was worry over herself or anxiety over leaving Barengar behind.

Ulfric carried Barengar to the Palace himself, ignoring the tears that the lad shed his in his fur cloak. Ulfric remembered trying to hide his tears as his father walked away from High Hrothgar, when he was ten years of age. Barengar wasn't even half that age. Absently he rubbed circles in the boy's back, and as he passed the gateway to the Palace he felt Barengar relax against his shoulder.

"Do you want a nap, or would you like to see what Sifnar has for you to eat?" Ulfric asked as they passed into the throne room.

"Nap," Barengar replied in a very small voice.

Ulfric brought the boy to his bedroom, and settled him into the little cot that had been set up for his use.

"Sleep well, Little Bear."

"N'night, Nunca Uffick."


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of that day, Barengar was subdued and quiet. He had cried a little upon waking in an unfamiliar environment, but had calmed quickly wen Ulfric took him to sit on the throne.

Once Barengar was settled with Ulfric on the throne, a smiling Jorlief offered him a little horse carved from a horker tusk, which Barengar took with glee, calling it "Fost". Barengar played happily with Fost until dinnertime, and even then, kept the toy where he could see it at all times.

Bedtime came quickly for Barengar, who clutched Fost and Viing, and wept because Mama and Papa and Sofie and Call'r weren't there to tell him stories. Ulfric sat up patiently telling him many of the tales he himself had grown up loving. Finally Barengar's brown eyes slid shut and stayed shut. Ulfric tucked the blankets around him and made for his own bed, well aware (from Galmar's grumbles) that Barengar would be an early riser.

He was chained to the wall, gagged, helpless under Elenwen's tortures. The Altmer had her back to him, and was sorting through a small arsenal of tools with which she would try to break him, his back was screaming agony already, the cold of the walls was seeping into his bones, he couldn't move, couldn't Shout--

"Nunca Uffick! Nunca Uffick wake up!"

Ulfric sat bolt upright, shoving the weight off his chest, along with all the pelts and blankets he slept in to fend off the cold, he opened his mouth, and, "FUS RO DAH!"

Gradually, Ulfric's racing heart slowed and he caught his breath, and noticed that he was shivering, and the bundle of bedclothes he'd tossed aside was wriggling and giggling. Barengar!

"Barengar? Are you hurt, boy?" Ulfric gasped as he dug through layers of furs and sheets on the floor.

Barengar giggled. "Mama does tha' too, Nunca Uffick. But you was having a ba' dream," he said, going suddenly serious, making Ulfric feel worried. "Who El'wen?"

"Elenwen," Ulfric corrected gently, "is a bad lady who hurt a lot of people in the past."

Ulfric got off the bed and picked up Barengar in one arm, and the bedding in the other, tossing it back onto the mattress, and attempting to smooth it out. A quick glance at a window told Ulfric that it was still the middle of the night.

"She hurt you?" Barengar asked quietly, a solemn expression on his normally cheery features.

"Yes, she did. But she is no longer a problem, lad. You don't need to worry about her."

"You worried. Or you 'member," Barengar pointed out, cuddling up to Ulfric, and putting his thumb into his mouth.

"I'm fine, little one. It was but a dream. I have dreams like that sometimes, but not often any longer," Ulfric said in a soothing tone.

"N'night, Unca," Barengar mumbled, sound asleep in Ulfric's arms.

Ulfric sat back against the headboard of the bed. "Good night," he said around a yawn.

The next two days passed quietly, Ulfric spending more time playing with Barengar than he should, and leaving much of the work of running the Province to his Thanes, Jorlief and Ysarald, who was fast becoming Barengar's new best friend.

"Ysarald Thrice-Pierced!" Barengar squealed and launched himself into the general's arms, and threw his arms around his neck.

"How is it that the lad can say Ysarald's whole name without getting it wrong, and I am Nunca Uffic?" Ulfric murmured into Jorlief's ear. The steward just grinned.

At that moment, Wuunferth came out of his quarters with his daily brew for Ulfric, which he had requested in order to have a dreamless sleep: Ulfric feared waking, or worse yet hurting his little charge if held in the throes of another nightmare. Sitting up on Ysarald's shoulders, Barengar had a bird's-eye view of the newcomer in his mage robes.

"Toffdeer?" Barengar asked.

Wuunferth looked up at the boy and sneered. "No."

Barengar frowned and though hard. He indicated to Ysarald that he wanted to get down. "Phinis Gestor?"

"I have nothing to do with that Mages College, brat," the elder mage spat. "Here, Jarl. It won't poison you."

"You name what? I Bear-e-gar," Barengar said, toddling over to Wuunferth.

"My name is none of your concern, child," Wuunferth snarled.

Barengar blinked, seeming taken aback at this mage who didn't want to talk to him. He wrapped his arms around Wuunferth's leg, looking up at him. "Urag likes when I cuddle him. But it's s'posed a be a secret."

"I do not like it. Unhand me before I use Flame Cloak to get you off me," Wuunferth replied, glaring at the child.

Ulfric stood, ready to hit his court mage, when Barengar screwed his eyes tightly shut, and began to crackle and hum with power.

"Is that?" Jorlief started to ask.

"Lightning Cloak. The child of less than four winters is casting a Lightning Cloak," Ysarald said, whistling lowly in admiration.

Instantly, Barengar dropped the spell and ran back to Ysarald, demanding to be shown how to whistle.

Wuunferth began shuffling back towards his quarters, but Ulfric, after ensuring Barengar was happy to stay with Ysarald, stopped the mage's progress by holding his shoulder in an iron grasp.

"Jarl! Unhand me at once!"

Ulfric spun him around, and then shoved him against the wall, speaking in a low-pitched voice that would be unheard by Barengar across the room. "If you EVER threaten that boy or any child in my care like you did just now, I will Shout you into Oblivion. Understand?"

Wuunferth nodded, once, glowering in ire. Ulfric raised him up on his tiptoes for a long minute, then let him go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Ulfric is a bit of an insensitive git, but as much as I love him, in these circumstances I think he'd be ooc if he wasn't a bit of a ... racist you know what. He'll learn.

Barengar tired himself out early that day, and dozed off on Ulfric's lap while the High King discussed dry issues of State with Jorlief and Ysarald. Ulfric carried Barengar to their shared bedroom, and tucked the boy into his cot, idly brushing a lock of hair out of his eye as he tugged the coverlet up.

Not long after, Ulfric called a halt to the night's discussions, and retired to bed himself. He slept soundly, Wuunferth's potion keeping dreams at bay. Some time in the middle of the night Ulfric awoke to the sounds of Barengar weeping quietly and calling for his Mama. Shaking the sleep from his mind, and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, Ulfric sat up.

"Barengar? Lad?"

"Mama," the boy called in a small, teary voice. "Want Mama!"

"Your Mama went to Whiterun," Ulfric said gently, getting up slowly. "Tell Nunc- Uncle Ulfric what's upset you."

"Want Mama!"

Ulfric saw a ball of purple Magicka light up Barengar's face, and there was an unearthly grinding sound and a massive, tentacled thing was suddenly in Ulfric's sleeping quarters, making an eerie purring sound. Instantly alert, Ulfric reached back to his bedside table and grabbed his steel war axe of Cowardice, and rolled forward to meet the enemy.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" Ulfric Shouted, barely taking a breath to aim and throwing the war axe with deadly accuracy at the thing's tentacle head.

The Shout knocked it back into the wall, and Ulfric put himself between it and Barengar, who was now screaming crying. Breathing hard, Ulfric lunged forward and gripped the axe's haft, tearing through the monster's body as he pulled the weapon back to himself. THe best made an impossible growl and righted itself, floating towards Ulfric with upraised arms. In an instant Ulfric threw himself against the beast, and it suddenly dissipated into a glowing pile of purple ash.

Three Stormcloaks crowded in the door, swords and battleaxes at the ready. Ulfric nodded to them, panting from exertion, and pointed at the strange ash. "Remove that."

Ulfric turned to Barengar, who was wailing loudly and sobbing irregularly. He scooped the boy up into his arms, and gathered him close, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing words to him. "It's all right, now, Barengar, you're safe. Uncle Ulfric dealt with the monster.

"N-n-nuh-NOOOO!" Barengar wailed, tears streaming down his face. "You kill'd Thoo-Loo! Thoo-Loo!"

"High King! What happened?" Ysarald appeared in the room, half armoured and holding his unsheathed weapon at the ready.

"Someone sent a Bound Beast from Oblivion into my room. I know not whether it was I or the Dragonborn's son who was the target," Ulfric replied grimly.

"They're either extremely brave or extremely foolish to make such an attempt, Sire. I'll see what evidence I can find," Ysarald said, shaking his head.

"No-no! Thoo-Loo my Thoo-Loo. No 'ttack! You 'ttack, Nunca Uffick!" Barengar shouted crossly.

"What?" Ulfric and Ysarald said in unison.

Ulfric stared down at the little boy in his arms in utter disbelief. It's not possible. He is but a lad of three-and-a-bit, he thought.

"Barengar, what's a Thoo-Loo?" Ysarald asked seriously.

"Mama wen' to S'theim an' brought back tingly books. I open'd a tingly book and I could make Thoo-Loo come," Barengar replied, sounding impatient.

"What other tingly books have you read, Barengar?" Ysarald asked.

Barengar scrunched up his face in concentration. In his left hand he had formed a fireball. In his right, a square of rust-coloured magicka summoned Viing from the side of his cot.

"Ulfric," Ysarald murmured, eyes wide, "do Rozenn and Galmar know he can do these things? Summon Daedra? Play with fire?"

"Send for Calder," Ulfric murmured. "He'll know. In the meantime, we are going to eat our breakfast. And send Wuunferth to me once you have the room put to rights."

Ulfric sat Barengar in one of the seats at the great table and started filling a plate. Behind his back Barengar stood up on the chair and began reaching across to the dishes of fruit in the middle of the massive table. Ulfric turned back to him, and let out a mighty guffaw when he realised what the boy was doing.

"Some apples don't fall far from the tree, so they, Little Bear?"

"Wha'?" Barengar asked, blinking innocently.

"Your Papa always did that in High Hrothgar, even though the food was the same on both sides of the table," Ulfric said with a conspiratorial grin.

Barengar let out a huge laugh, and Ulfric joined in, the scare of the early morning banished in the light of day. Ulfric sat beside his little charge, who was still giggling, even as he made his way through his breakfast. Ulfric rubbed an aching shoulder and tucked in, too, pausing in his meal occasionally so he could offer Barengar some treats from the far side of the table.

Wuunferth approached the table while Barengar chomped on an apple.

"Well, Jarl? What do you want?"

"There is only one man in the world permitted to speak to me with such disrespect, Mage, and he is not here," Ulfric murmured calmly, while eyeing the man dangerously.

"Why was I summoned from my bed at this ungodly hour?" Wuunferth said, ducking his head to avoid the angry High King's gaze.

Ulfric took the backing down as the unspoken apology it was intended to be, and turned to the subject at hand. "Speaking of Summoning, Wuunferth, at what age do children demonstrate magical ability?"

Wuunferth blinked. "The age at which magical ability shows is not something I have any information about, Jarl. I do not take apprentices, nor do I have anything to do with training up young would-be Novices. Sorry," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

Ulfric tried very hard to remain patient with the man who was more loyal to his deceased father than to himself. "Well, then, Wuunferth, at what age did you start to demonstrate magical ability?"

"It was so many lifetimes ago, Jarl," he hedged. Ulfric glared at him. "I was about fifteen or sixteen," Wuunferth said quickly.

"Have you ever, in all your years of experience, in all your knowledge, come across a child of three or so who could cast complex spells or summon bound creatures from Oblivion?" Ulfric asked with exaggerated patience.

"N-not in my experience, no, Jarl. But then, I have little to do with young mages. You might ask one of the College Mages. Or that ... Thane of yours," Wuunferth said with a grimace of distaste. He still held a grudge against Rozenn for using him as unwitting bait to draw out the Butcher, years earlier.

"Thane Rozenn is ... unavailable at present," Ulfric said with a pointed glance at Barengar who had abandoned his meal and was playing with Viing and Fost on the table. "Give me a name from the College."

Wuunferth stroked his chin and hummed for a while. "Hmmm... I suppose Tolfdir is the most likely candidate - he's dealt with quite a few trainees over the years, and he's not wholly hateful."

"Thank you, Wuunferth," Ulfric bit out, fighting to remain civil, "you are dismissed."

Ulfric sent a courier to Winterhold as soon as Yrsarald told him his chamber had been put to rights. He decided Barengar had been cooped up too much, and so took him to the marketplace to tire him out.

Ulfric and Barengar slept well that night, undisturbed by dreams or bad memories. The next morning Ralof had arrived in town from his recent mission, and instantly started wrestling with Barengar on the rug in front of the throne.

Ulfric took the opportunity to do some much-needed work for the Province in the War Room. Barengar went down for a nap after lunch, and Ulfric was amused to see that Ralof looked equally as tired as the boy.

That night passed quietly, too. The next morning after breakfast the door to the Throne Room opened to admit two figures in College Robes, one an older Nord, the other a tall, arrogant Khajiit. Barengar jumped down from the throne and charged headlong towards them.

"Tofdeeeeeeeeeeeer! Kitty!" Barengar shouted at the top of his voice.

"Barengar, good to see you again, young man," Tolfdir twinkled at the boy.

"Greetings to you, Archmage's Cub," said J'Zargo, rolling his eyes.

Tolfdir approached the Throne, and inclined his head to Ulfric. "High King. I was surprised to read your summons. I wonder that your regular correspondents have not complained before now. You gave little away in your missive."

Ulfric gave the elder mage a rare smile and rose to join him. J'Zargo was occupied by an ebullient Barengar who was trying to persuade him to Levitate him (or toss him and use Telekinesis) "to the skyyyyyyy, Kitty!"

"Tolfdir, I thank you for coming so soon, I know you must be a busy man. Rozenn and Wuunferth both speak highly of you," Ulfric said, indicating towards the War Room.

Tolfdir nodded and moved to the doorway. "I suspect you overstate your Court Mage's opinion of me, High King. But I am fond of the Archmage, and she speaks very highly of you. J'Zargo, if there is a fire the cost of new wall hangings will come from your purse!"

"But this one has perfected his Flame Cloak!"

"Nevertheless," Tolfdir called over his shoulder. "And do not encourage the boy!"

"Was it necessary to bring the Cat?" Ulfric asked quietly.

Tolfdir glared at the High King. "J'Zargo is a teacher of the Mages' College, Jarl Ulfric, and is shadowing me in order to learn the role of Chief Wizard - at Archmage Rozenn's behest. Both she and I think highly of all our students, even if you do not think of all your subjects equally. Perhaps I ought have brought one of the Dunmer students to demonstrate how far from the Grey Quarter they can be."

Ulfric blinked, taken aback, and somewhat abashed. "I ... spoke out of turn, Master Tolfdir. I apologise."

"Hmmph. J'Zargo is the one who needs an apology, although I suppose to bring it up to him might cause more friction than it would alleviate. We will speak no more of it. Why are we here?"

Ulfric saw no reason to prevaricate. "Barengar summoned a Bound Beast from Oblivion, two mornings past, and implied that he does this often - certainly often enough to have given the thing a pet name. And I have seen evidence that he can cast Lightning Cloak, Fireballs and perform Telekinesis. Is this normal for children of that age?"

Tolfdir's eyebrows lifted in shock. "Is the Archmage aware of this ability?"

"I have no way of knowing, I am afraid. She is presently in Whiterun along with the rest of her family. I have been delegated babysitter for Barengar," Ulfric replied.

"I have heard of such things among Altmer and some Bosmeri infants, but certainly not in Bretons or Nords. In my experience, magical talent among humans doesn't make itself apparent until puberty hits. Barengar is a rarity," Tolfdir said, scratching his beard.

"A rarity that I have to manage. Excellent," Ulfric muttered.


End file.
